Saturday, March 9, 2013

Ghost Fame



Nothing nobody does could ever help or harm me
So I'm killing myself until I'm felt like sharpies
My heart beats slow but the bottles go fast
Until my heartbeat knows which one will be the last
It's not my past or present it's all from my future
I inherited brown glass and gothic sutures
The Kama sutra of macabre is in my fucking veins
And I spill it every time I write, to leave a million stains
Of insane rain reigning, I might be crazy
But I stay away from all shady shades
That could relapse me back
To my Vice City 80s phase
And write cocaine slang on the sides of old trains
Like I never gave a fuck
Only looking for ghost fame
Anyways so I'd take a thirty eight out and brain myself
Because it leaves a bigger stain than if I hang myself

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